Broken
by Dana Holmes
Summary: Several hours after the attempt on Severus Snape's life, Sirius Black tries to come to terms with what he's done and what it means for his future.


Warnings: Violent themes, adult language.  
><span>Contains:<span> Hurt/comfort, with only one of many hurt people being comforted.  
><span>Disclaimer:<span> I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters, settings, or plot points. I receive no money in exchange for writing this.  
><span>Author's Notes:<span> Well, this is definitely nothing like my usual style, but it came to me in a "I don't give a fuck if I've just finished twenty pages of essay, this stuff needs out of my head _now_" sort of way, so here it is.

They had missed breakfast. Dumbledore had kept them so fucking late they had missed breakfast. That was the first thing. Then there was the year's worth of detentions. Not just for the remainder of this year, no; Dumbledore had actually given him detention _well into next term_ over... over nothing, really. _That_ had not put Sirius in a good humor. Then there was that fucking _look_ Snivellus shot Moony on his way out the door, as though for the first time in his greasy little life he'd actually found something more revolting than himself. For a moment, Sirius had quite a bit of difficulty regretting what he'd done; Rather, he regretted that it hadn't _worked_.

But Moony looked nauseous. He'd look so much the worse if someone had actually been hurt (even if Severus Snape was only a 'someone' if one was using the word very, very loosely). If for no other reason than that, Sirius was glad for Prong's intervention.

They marched up to the Gryffindor Tower in deathly silence. Sirius had nothing to say, in particular. Even James wasn't brave enough to try to laugh _this_ off. Peter, as much as he wasn't the intellectual of their group, at least had enough brains to figure out that nothing he had to say on this issue would be particularly well received. Sirius had a feeling Moony was too afraid he'd vomit to open his mouth.

He really did feel bad about that. Next time he'd try with a vampire.

They didn't even say a word to each other when they split at their dormitory door. Moony kicked his shoes off and collapsed into bed without changing, turning his back to them and curling himself into a protective ball beneath his blankets. James took half a step toward him before thinking better of it and returning to get his Charms things, then joined Sirius and Peter on the staircase to the commonroom.

They were just on the other side of the door when the voice of a Artemis Applebee stopped them.

"...So in he rushes in the dead of night, screamin' bloody murder 'bout Sirius Black trying to kill him. Do you reckon it's true?"

There was a pause, and then Lily Evans sighed and replied, "I don't know. It doesn't sound like them."

"But it doesn't sound like _'im_ to lie either, does it? And you of all people know how they bully 'im, Lily—"

"It doesn't," Evans snapped, but then her voice softened a bit, "... it doesn't sound like the boy I used to know. _Used to_being the operative words."

Silence. The girls must have stopped moving toward the door, because when they started again, they sounded just as close.

"You don' believe it, do you?" Artemis asked softly.

Prongs had practically flattened himself on the floor by then (no small feet going down a staircase), ear pressed to the crack above the door. Evans must have simply shaken her head, though, because they didn't hear any reply, but Artemis began speaking again after a second.

"Well, _I_ do," she said, somewhat resigned. "It's _in_ Black to kill, if you know what I mean. It's not in Snape."

"What _do_ you mean?" Evans said, quietly and, if it wasn't just Sirius being too hopeful, slightly defensively.

"I mean... His family's been practicin' Dark Arts for _centuries_. That stuff... it _messes_ with you, Lily. It messes with your_soul_. I don' know what Potter's problem is, or Lupin and Pettigrew's, for that matter, but Black... Black was broken from the beginning."

"Don't be silly," Evans said softly, as though she didn't really mean it. "Black is—I mean, he's an ass, but at heart he's actually—well, he's not as bad as _Slytherins_, in any case..." A moment of silence, as though she didn't know whether or not she should say it, and then, "Sev—Snape... Snape does them too, you know."

"Maybe so," Artemis said, and as she spoke the echo of her voice changed, as though they were walking toward the door again. "Snape hasn't been involved with 'em nearly as long as the Blacks have, though. It's the sort of thing that works over time. My mum has an uncle and a cousin who fell in with Grindelwald. Mum's uncle was in deep for decades. Mum's cousin had just barely got his toes wet when Grindelwald fell. Mum's cousins' fine now; Works at a bookstore in Germany. Mom's uncle... You couldn' pay me to even visit him. I'm telling you, Lily, that stuff _breaks your soul_."

"I know," Evans said quickly. Then, more skeptically, "I know..." There was a sound of the portrait swinging open. "You really think Sirius Black has a broken soul?"

"Sooner him than Severus Snape."

The portrait swung shut. The bell signaling the start of their Charms lesson went off.

Sirius just stood there, frozen. Prongs pushed himself up off the ground and swung the door open. In the light of the common room, he had the nerve to actually look relieved. "Glad I won't have to explain _that_ to Evans. Shame about Applebee, though. I used to think she was—"

Sirius threw his textbook at him. He hadn't realized just _how_ upset he was until he felt it leave it hands. Something had snapped.

Prongs dodged it easily, but looked peeved no less. "What was that for?"

"She said my _soul_ was _broken_ and all you're worried about is whether or not you still have a chance with Evans?"

"Because I know it's not true! Everyone knows it's not true, except Applebee! Evans didn't even believe her, and she's her best—"

"Evans didn't believe that I'd tried to kill Snivellus. I _did_ try to kill Snivellus, Prongs."

Prongs paused. "You didn't mean anything by it," he said stonily. "You were drunk."

Well, they _had_ been drinking last night. They usually all had a butterbeer or two on full moons, just before the moon came out. It helped Moony relax. Sirius didn't think he'd had that much, but sometimes one lost count of these things, and he_did_ have a headache that might have been a hangover.

Of course, it also might have been sleep deprivation.

Sirius nodded. His anger at James calmed, but he felt sick. "I don't think I'm going to Charms today," he said flatly. "Maybe Transfiguration. We'll see." He turned and ran from the common room before they could stop him. James could catch him, he knew, so he immediately started taking every passageway he came to, not with any real mind for where he was going, but simply with the goal of losing James and getting as far away from everyone as he possibly could.

Eventually, he found himself on the cliff overlooking the lake. He sank to his knees and just stared blankly for ages as the fridge waves crashed against the rocks, _breaking_ every time into a million little drops, but then flowing back into the whole...

It was true, of course. It was all true. The Dark Arts _did_ chip away at, and in extreme cases even _shatter_ the human soul after extended periods of use, and the Black family's use of the Dark Arts was _certainly_ extensive. Sirius didn't know the extent to which this sort of thing was genetic, but even when he was a child, there'd been times when his mother or one of his cousins would just stop and teach him a Dark spell (Bellatrix had _loved_ to teach them beginners Dark Arts.) and he'd gone along with it because he got to hold a wand "like a big kid" and he hadn't really known any better. Children's souls were fragile, weren't they? And...

And he'd fucking tried to kill Severus Snape.

And then he'd lied to Dumbledore about feeling bad about it.

He felt _awful_ now, though. He wondered if that counted for anything.

"I see it's starting to sink in," a gentle voice said from behind him.

"How long until I start to feel human again?" Sirius asked in monotone.

"A few years," Dumbledore said, surprising Sirius by sitting down next to him.

"I mean it," Sirius said weakly. "Be honest."

Dumbledore sighed. "Five years, maybe."

Even longer. Of course. Sirius should have known better than to ask the man to be honest. Not that it mattered. Dumbledore was probably making it up as he went.

He opened an arm, and Sirius surprised even himself by sliding into his headmaster's arms. He buried his face and deep purple robes and, though he half hated himself for it, thought of his mother, and the way she used to cradle him when he cried. That had been years and years ago, though, and it hadn't _quite_ felt like this. Dumbledore didn't have the breasts to convincingly play his mother...

"So, what now?" he asked into the older man's robes. "No happiness for five years?"

"Oh, Sirius..." the man breathed. "Men with far greater sins on their shoulders than yours find happiness. No. There is always happiness and love for those who search for them. But there will also be... _moments_..." Sirius looked up to find Dumbledore's eyes staring vacantly out at the lake, not unlike Sirius' own a moment ago. "Moments when you'll get this strange urge to defend yourself, even as you know that you shouldn't... Moments when you'll feel like a hypocrite for doing the right thing... Moments when... Sirius, please resume breathing."

Sirius hadn't noticed that he wasn't breathing, but the vague feeling of relief in the back of his mind when he forced himself to take a deep breath showed the necessity of the headmaster's request.

Dumbledore shifted his hold on Sirius, pulling Sirius' face up out of his robe and gazing with Sirius across the lake. "It will get better over time," Dumbledore said quietly. "You were fortunate enough to have a friend with better judgment, and doubly fortunate that he intervened before it was too late." The arm that was slung around Sirius' shoulders squeezed tightly. "Nothing has been done that cannot be fixed."

"Do you honestly believe that, professor?" Sirius asked, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.

"Of course. You are not, as Ms. Applebee put it, _broken_."

Sirius nodded slowly. He was unconvinced. Sirius blinked up at him. "How do you know what Artemis said?"

"Did you really think Mr. Potter was just going to let you run off in that state? I've little doubt that he even ignored my request to leave you to me and go to class; I imagine someone shall find him searching your usual spots, wherever they may be." His eyes twinkled.

Sirius dismissed the possibility that Dumbledore knew their "usual spots" as sheer paranoia. He return his mind to the issue at hand. "So I'm not broken yet?"

"Not at all."

"Damaged, at least?"

Dumbledore gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. "If your soul is damaged, Sirius, it has nothing to do with your parents." He sighed. "You've been very cruel to Mr. Snape for a very long time."

"He's deserved it for a very long time," Sirius muttered.

"Does anyone deserve to die, Sirius?"

For the smallest of moments Sirius considered answering 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' to trap the man.

Then he recalled that he was speaking to the man who let _Gellert Grindelwald_ live.

Sirius sighed. "You should be having this conversation with Regulus." He _should_ be. Sirius had left home because he was the good one. Because he genuinely _wanted_ to be the good one.

Dumbledore's demeanor got darker, suddenly, but rather than scold Sirius or distance him, he held Sirius closer. "I sincerely hope that the day never comes when your brother needs advice on salving a murderer's conscience."

Sirius sincerely thought it would come some day whether Dumbledore wanted it to or not, but he didn't say anything. Regulus would never go to Dumbledore, anyway. He'd go to Bella, probably, and she'd just make things so much worse...

"Do your believe your brother is 'broken,' Sirius?"

"God no," Sirius answered quickly, _almost_ offended by the question. His... former... little brother was a lot of things, but 'broken' was certainly not one of them. "He's just... misguided."

Dumbledore smiled. "I think so too. Many young boys are." Sirius didn't know if that was a reference to Regulus' fellow Slytherins or to Sirius himself.

Sirius just nodded.

A new fear had crawled into his mind, though. One that almost made having an irreparably damaged soul look like decent option. "James' parents are going to be _furious_," he said quietly. "Do you have to tell them?"

Dumbledore gave Sirius a hard look. "It would unethical not to."

"I have nowhere else to go," Sirius said simply, pulling out of Dumbledore's grip so that he could look the man straight-on. "Can't you just... I mean, they're not my _parents_, exactly, so isn't a breach of my privacy to..." he trailed off. Dumbledore was not looking convinced.

"I will word things delicately. It would also be prudent of you to include a letter with a very detailed assurance that nothing like this will _ever_ happen again."

"Yes! I'd be glad to!" Sirius promised.

"Mr. Snape probably wouldn't object to such a letter, either."

Sirius' heart sank. Sirius thought that Snivellus would object very much, purely out of spite, but he didn't say that. "I don't have a choice about that one, do I, sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "It will be good for you."

"And bad for Remus. I can't put it in writing—"

"And you absolutely should not. In either case. You've hurt Mr. Lupin quite enough as it is."

Sirius flinched.

"Have you apologized to him yet, Sirius?"

Sirius dropped his eyes to the ground and shook his head.

"There are a lot of people to whom you owe very sincere apologies, Mr. Black. Don't neglect Mr. Potter and Professor Slughorn—"

"And yourself." Sirius sighed. "I'm _really_ sorry, professor," he was so tired that that was really all he could manage. It would have to be enough. He had a funny feeling he'd be repeating himself a lot during those detentions anyway. His arse was stinging just thinking about it, and his thumbs were not looking forward to the next year.

That would come later, though.

"And... thank you, professor," he said, looking up again as Dumbledore stood. He followed the man to his feet. "Thank you for not expelling me, and _thank you_ for coming after me."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again in that mysterious way... "It's perfectly alright."


End file.
